My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 124: Getting In

Chapter 124: Getting In

The vertebrae in orbit fluttered loose, their perfect arc briefly breaking.

Camber rolled. His ribs shrieked with the motion, but he moved anyway—shoulder dragging, thigh slipping under him. His left eye was shut completely now. The right stared ahead without blinking.

He stood.

Unsteady. Barely breathing. But standing.

A ghost strike followed. One hand dropped low, and the energy flared off the floor toward Ravel’s ribs.

It hit. Not deep, but enough to send him a step back.

Ravel’s expression didn’t change. He let the force move through him.

Then reached out with one hand and gripped Camber by the front of the chest.

The tether reappeared. Not over the shoulder this time.

Directly over the heart.

A fine red thread attached itself to the skin just above Camber’s left pec. The shard pulsed underneath.

Camber froze. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

Ravel twisted.

The thread yanked.

The shard inside Camber’s body lurched upward like it had been ripped by a meat hook. The skin stretched. The veins around it bulged as light burned through the flesh from the inside out.

And then it came loose.

With a tearing sound.

Camber screamed.

It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t fear. Just pain.

Bairn collapsed.

Its limbs folded in. Its core unraveled into mist. Nothing stayed.

Camber dropped back to the floor. Blood poured freely from his chest. The hole wasn’t clean. Nothing about it was.

He tried to breathe.

Once.

Then again.

The sound was thin. Wet. One hand curled halfway into a fist, but it never closed. The shard was gone. His Ikona was gone. The body was just a shell.

The last cut didn’t come fast.

It came slow—five vertebrae falling in perfect order, carving through what was left like the System wanted him remembered in pieces.

And then—

Stillness.

The arena didn’t applaud. The crowd didn’t move.

The floor darkened beneath Camber’s remains. Blood shimmered once, then began to dissolve—muscle curling in on itself, flesh breaking down into black ash as heat shimmered faintly around the corpse.

A second passed.

Then another.

The lights above flickered—once.

A pulse.

And from the far edge of the ring, the voice returned. Crisp. Sharp. Almost cheerful.

"Well, well, well... that was gruesome."

The Announcer stepped forward from the static, his jacket catching the light in slanted diamonds of red and blue. The mic spun once between his fingers before he caught it with the kind of ease only a man who never missed could muster.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and not-quite-bonded mutants—what you just witnessed was not a battle. It was an education."

He stopped beside what little was left of Camber, one hand resting lightly behind his back.

"Sometimes, no matter how steady your form is... no matter how many tricks you hide in your sleeves..." He leaned slightly forward. "It’s just not your round."

The ash curled inward. Gone.

Ravel didn’t look at the Announcer. He simply stood, still holding the shard. His palm was wet with blood.

The Announcer smiled as the air shifted and a confirmation tone echoed gently down the length of the stadium floor.

"Shard transferred. Victory sealed. Soul Energy awarded. And for the rest of you watching from those silent little bleachers?"

He turned a half-circle, raising his arms.

"Ninety-five."

A single number.

The crowd didn’t move, but the tension rolled through them all the same.

Then the Announcer laughed—short, bright, like the whole thing had been a private joke only he understood.

"I’ll see you all again soon."

He snapped his fingers once.

And vanished.

Elias sat up, holding a hand over his head as his alarm blared off at 5:00 AM. His hand shook, trembling under the weight of his own skin as his mind twisted around the horrors of what he’d watched. He slapped himself lightly, the sharp sting jolting him back into his body. Gotta stay grounded in what I can control, he muttered to himself, voice hoarse and barely audible over the fading echo of the alarm.

Dot’s yawned from within him, her presence stirring like a restless hum. "That was such a creepy looking Ikona..." she said, her tone soft but tinged with unease, like she was still seeing it too.

Elias didn’t answer right away. He dragged his legs over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the cold floor with a thud that sent a shiver up his spine. The chill bit into him, grounding him further, and he sucked in a slow breath, letting it settle in his chest before pushing it out. "Yeah," he said finally, voice steadier but still rough around the edges. "Creepy doesn’t even scratch the surface."

He stood, stretching his arms up until his joints popped, feeling the ache from yesterday’s obstacle course ripple through his muscles. It was a dull pain, manageable, nothing compared to the gnawing in his head. He needed something to do, something normal to shove the memories back where they belonged. Cooking. That’d work.

He shuffled to the kitchenette in his pod, hands moving on autopilot as he pulled out a cutting board, a knife, some vegetables—whatever he could grab. The clatter of the blade against wood steadied him, the sizzle of oil in the pan filling the silence. Garlic hit the heat, sharp and familiar, and for a moment, he could almost pretend everything was fine. Almost.

But his mind wouldn’t let go. It kept dragging him back—Randalp’s body splitting apart like wet paper, the silence after, thick and suffocating. Vincent just standing there, shard glinting in his hand, calm as if he’d done nothing more than swat a fly. And Camber—God, Camber’s scream still clawed at Elias’s ears, raw and endless, a sound that wouldn’t fade no matter how loud the oil popped.

He gripped the knife harder, knuckles whitening, forcing himself to focus on the chop, chop, chop against the board. Stay grounded. Stay in control. The words looped in his head, a lifeline he clung to.

Dot’s phased out of his chest, her tiny form flickering into view beside him. She hovered there, watching the knife rise and fall. "You’re thinking too much," she said, gentle but firm, like she was trying to pull him back. "It’s not gonna help."

He paused mid-chop, glancing at her. "I know. But it’s not like I can stop it."

She bobbed in the air, nodding faintly. "I get it. That Ikona... it was like something pulled straight outta a nightmare. But we can’t let it freeze us up. We’ve gotta keep going."

Elias exhaled, resuming his cuts with a slower, more deliberate rhythm. "You’re right. Too much riding on us to just sit here spinning."

He finished the stir-fry—nothing fancy, just peppers and onions and whatever protein he’d scavenged from the rations. It wasn’t about the food; it was about the process, the distraction. He plated it up, sat at the tiny table, and shoveled bites into his mouth without really tasting it. His thoughts drifted to the others—Kikaru, Tidwell, Junijo. They’d been there too, seen the same shit. Were they falling apart like he was? He needed to know, needed to check on them. Needed to feel less alone.

He cleaned up fast, tossing the dishes into the sink with a clatter, and headed out. The halls of A Block were dead quiet, the usual buzz of life replaced by a stillness that pressed against his ears. It felt like the whole place was waiting, holding its breath for whatever came next.

He found them in the common area—Kikaru pacing like a caged animal, arms crossed tight; Tidwell perched on a table, fingers tapping out a jittery beat; Junijo staring at the floor, lost somewhere far away. Elias cleared his throat, the sound rough in the silence. "Hey."

They looked up, eyes locking on him one by one. Kikaru stopped pacing, her gaze sharp. "You look like shit," she said, blunt as ever.

Elias huffed a laugh, dry and empty. "Feel like it too."

Tidwell smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Join the club."

Junijo lifted his head, his voice small and shaky. "How are we supposed to keep going after... that?"

"It’s not about pretending," Elias snapped, his patience fraying. He took a breath, steadying himself. "It’s about doing something with it. We train. We push. We make sure we’re not the next ones getting torn apart."

Elias rubbed the back of his neck, the tension still coiled tight in his muscles. "We don’t have a choice," he said, his tone low but firm. "Sitting around won’t change what we saw. We’ve got to deal with it and get stronger."

Kikaru stopped pacing, her arms dropping to her sides as she fixed them all with a hard stare. "He’s right. That fight—Randalp going down like that, Vincent just standing there with those shards—it’s a wake-up call. The system’s tightening the screws, and we’re still in the game whether we like it or not."

Tidwell leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his usual sarcasm edged with something darker. "Yeah, great pep talk. So what, we just pretend Camber’s scream isn’t still ringing in our ears and get back to business?"